


You Been Waiting Up For Me?

by Mellow_Yellow



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellow_Yellow/pseuds/Mellow_Yellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian's late getting home from ROTC, and Mickey is not worried or freaking out, because he is not a crazy housewife. He just thinks it's fucked up Ian left his phone at home, and is probably now caught in the rain, and Mickey is going to kill him himself when he gets home, if he isn't already dead in a ditch somewhere. See? Totally not worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Been Waiting Up For Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovetheOmni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovetheOmni/gifts).



> This is my gift for lesbiaku (LoveTheOmni) based on the prompt: Somewhere in the fic Mickey says: “Shut the fuck up. I never told anyone that before.” Preferably fluffy. Alternate prompt: Army/ROTC AU.
> 
> This will be completely non-canonical in t-minus two months, but this is my head canon for what would actually go down in the real world were Ian eventually tracked down by the army for enlisting while underage, and Mickey coping by being a fucking worrying hovercraft all the time. Also, you said fluffy, which I interpreted as....fluffy smut. Which spiraled into porn. Hope that's cool, dude.

Mickey was pacing. He was trying not to pace, because he was not a housewife and Ian was not actually on his way home from war, just the high school, but sitting on the couch had been driving him crazy and ten minutes ago he’d finally given in to the urge to walk back and forth in the Gallaghers’ living room, wearing a path in the carpet, telling himself he was just stretching out his legs.

It was storming out. It wasn’t a big deal, it was just some rain, sure it was fucking thundering and lightning too and Mickey could see out the window that the street was starting to flood near the curb, but whatever, Ian could take care of himself. And fine, Ian had left his cell phone at home, too. But that was totally cool, it happened. Mickey wasn’t freaking out about it.

He stalked to the window and pulled the ugly flowery curtain back to glare out into the dreary, rain-drenched front yard. No signs of intelligent life anywhere. So definitely not Ian, the freaking phone-forgetter—no, Mickey bit the thought off, it was fine. Ian was just running late.

“Chill,” Mickey told himself firmly. He turned and went to sit on the stairs so he had a direct view of the front door. His knee twitched up and down in a crazy, antsy rhythm.

Mickey knew ROTC practice let out an hour and a half ago. It wasn’t weird that he knew that, sometimes he met Ian after school and walked him home, in a totally normal, _not lame way,_ of course, no matter what his fucking nosy, gossipy brothers and sister had to say about it.

So Ian was about twenty-five minutes getting home, now. Mickey resisted the urge to check the time on his own phone again. And again, it wasn’t like he could text or call Ian to check in anyway, because Mickey had already discovered when he’d gotten to the empty Gallagher house earlier that Ian had left his phone on his bed upstairs, the fucking _asshole_ —no, Mickey was cool, he was chill, he wasn’t melting down, he was just concerned— _understandably so,_ his brain automatically argued—that something had happened to the redheaded idiot, because these days he tended to attract bad luck like some kind of ancient, cursed magnetic amulet.

Even though things had been fine lately, fucking good as hell, really, and there was no reason that a string of good luck should make Mickey immediately apprehensive about when the other shoe would drop. It was crazy, paranoid thinking, and Mickey wasn’t here for that.

He checked the time on his phone again. Shit. Half an hour late, now. He was going to have to call Fiona. And after that, kill Ian. If the kid ever came home again.

But as Mickey brought up her number in his contacts, he finally heard the lock on the front door grind loudly, the deadbolt turning over with a clank.

Mickey felt his ears perk up, feeling like a dog. He was on his feet as soon as the door was smacking open against the frame, bringing with it a whoosh of freezing wind, cold wet air from outside, and Ian.

“Where the fuck have you _been_ , man?” Mickey darted forward, giving Ian just enough time to shut the door behind him before he pounced.

He grabbed Ian’s arm at the elbow and pulled him further inside. Ian was soaked, water dripping from his arms and head, running in rivulets down his face.

“Drills ran late, and I missed the bus,” Ian said, his teeth audibly chattering in his head, the dumb idiot. His stupid ROTC uniform clung to his body as he rubbed at his chilled hands.

Without thinking, Mickey grabbed his hands with his own, chafing the cold fingers roughly, trying to bring back some warmth. “Jesus.” He reached up to wipe at the water coursing from Ian’s hair into his face, swiping it off his forehead. “You’re fucking drenched.”

Through his shivers, Ian managed to smile wryly. “Good eye, Mick.”

Mickey shoved him on the shoulder. “Watch it.” He brushed at the water pooling on the shoulder of Ian’s jacket roughly. “You’re late as hell, I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Ian rolled his eyes, shouldering his way gently out of Mickey’s grasp to shrug out of his jacket. “I told you, man. I missed the bus.”

“Yeah, you should’ve just texted me then.” Mickey threw his hands up in exaggerated surprise. “Oh wait, you couldn’t, because you left your phone at _home_ , on your dumb bed, instead of in your dumb pocket, where it’s _supposed_ to be.”

Pausing, Ian turned around from where he’d been struggling to toe off his high lace-up uniform boots. He was full-out grinning now. “Were you worried about me, Mick?” He kicked the boots away and crowded into Mickey’s space, backing him up into the railing of the stairway. “You been waiting up for me?” He nuzzled at his neck, laughing as Mickey tried to squirm away.

“You were supposed to be at my house a half hour ago,” Mickey pointed out, refusing to pout like an asshole.

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s my bad,” Ian said, drawing his hands up Mickey’s sides.

“Dude, get off, you’re soaking wet,” Mickey muttered, shoving ineffectually at Ian’s chest where it pressed against his own.

“Oh, am I, Mick?” Ian purposefully rubbed his sodden head against Mickey’s face, ignoring Mickey’s indignant squawk. “Am I wet?”

“Such a pain in the ass,” Mickey said, giving in and letting Ian lean against him even though his wet clothes were leaking onto Mickey’s. He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing Ian’s arm just below his wrist. Ian was fine. He let out a low, tense breath.

Ian pulled back to look Mickey in the face. The teasing smile slipped away. “Hey.” He twisted to try and meet Mickey’s eye, but Mickey was determinedly staring at his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t _worry_ me, christ,” Mickey protested, but it lacked heat.

Mickey felt suddenly foolish, embarrassed that he’d been so worried now that Ian was whole and safe in front of him. It had been almost a year since Ian left. He needed to stop overreacting when Ian went off the grid for a couple hours.

Ian went quiet, arms on either side of Mickey as he held the railing, caging him in.

“I’ll always come back,” Ian said softly. He brought a cold, wet hand up to cup Mickey’s cheek.

Mickey clenched his jaw. He was still mad at the asshole. Then he felt Ian shiver with his whole body and rolled his eyes. Fight-pause, he decided. He grabbed a handful of Ian’s shirt and started pulling him toward the stairs.

“You need to dry off before you freeze to death,” Mickey said firmly.

Ian obediently let himself be led by his shirt. “I think I’ll be okay,” he said, amused, and Mickey shot him a dark look.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Mickey shoved him into the bathroom. “Fine, fucking freeze to death, see what I care,” he said sourly and went to turn away, but Ian snagged him by the waist, reeling him in.

“Hey,” Ian said softly, right into the curve behind Mickey’s ear. Mickey resolutely _did not_ shudder or feel his dick twitch in sudden interest. “Maybe I do need a hot shower. Maybe you should hop in there with me, just in case.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. He reached around Ian for the stack of towels on the top of the cabinet just inside the bathroom door. He shoved one in Ian’s face. “Would you please just dry off?” He strained to sound businesslike and not at all turned on.

Huffing, Ian finally let go of Mickey and started rubbing the towel roughly over his face. The color was starting to return to his cheeks, Mickey noted with satisfaction.

“Where is everyone?” Ian asked as he tossed the towel aside. He dragged his wet olive-green T-shirt off, going for his belt. Mickey tracked his movements greedily with his eyes, propping a hip against the doorframe.

“Carl had that football thing over at Harper,” Mickey said. “Fiona dragged Debbie and Liam to it, said they’d be home in time for dinner.”

Ian kicked his camo pants off, leaving them in a wet pile in the corner. He leered at Mickey. “So empty house, huh?”

Mickey licked his lips, looking at the way Ian’s boxers revealed the smooth grooves of his hips. He let Ian loop an arm around his waist again and pull him in, pressing their hips together. “How was army practice?” Mickey asked, a little husky.

Ian shot him a look, squeezing his waist in rebuke. “ _ROTC drill training_ ,” he corrected, and Mickey smirked at the familiar argument, “was fine. We had to call it early because of the rain, but the kids are getting the hang of the formations, finally.”

Mickey frowned a little at the “kids” part, because most of the kids in ROTC were nearly Ian’s age. Mickey knew Ian felt older than his seventeen years now now, especially since he wasn’t in regular high school classes anymore, just nighttime prep sessions to finish up credits for his diploma, but it still bothered Mickey in a weird, indefinable way when Ian acted like he wasn’t a kid himself anymore.

It was probably because Ian _seemed_ older now, too, and not just because he was taller and more muscular than he ever was when he was in school before. It went deeper than that, and it didn’t ease any of the million and one worries Mickey had when he looked at Ian nowadays.

Because even though Ian was stable now, more or less, medicated and going to therapy and trying so damn hard to stay on track, there were still moments when Mickey looked at him and Ian would be staring off, and he looked thirty years older than he actually was. It was something about his eyes. They looked so tired.

Unconsciously, Mickey pressed forward, cupping his hand over the back of Ian’s neck and squeezing. Ian’s eyes slid shut on a sigh.

“One of the kids asked me if I was still trying to get into West Point,” Ian said idly, his eyes still closed. He blinked them open and looked at Mickey, shooting him a weak smile, like he’d told some kind of joke.

Mickey frowned. “The army’s just lucky you’re not suing their asses,” he said, and Ian rolled his eyes.

“We talked about this, man,” Ian said wearily. He didn’t pull away from Mickey though, instead stepping closer, slotting their legs together. “ _I’m_ just lucky they didn’t throw my ass in jail.”

This was also a familiar argument, and one of the only areas where Mickey’s opinion unexpectedly dovetailed with Lip's.

“Willful endangerment of a minor,” Mickey said, parroting Lip’s new favorite phrase lately. he dutifully recited the gist of Lip’s favorite rant on the subject. “They can act like they were doing you a favor all they want by dropping charges, but if you’d been deployed and hurt in combat, they’d be fucking sunk.” He used his grip on Ian’s neck to shake him lightly. “You know that, man.”

“It’s funny, even when Lip’s not here, it’s like I can still hear an echo of his voice,” Ian said lightly, shaking his head with a smile.

Mickey opened his mouth to argue, hating the tired, defeated light to Ian’s eyes, but Ian swooped in and captured his mouth with his own before Mickey could form the words, butting him off.

Ian tangled his tongue with Mickey’s, rubbing his hands lightly up and down Mickey’s sides until Mickey’s skin was tingling, until Mickey was loose-limbed and quiet, and then back just enough to press their foreheads together. “You don’t have to worry about me so much,” he said quietly.

Biting his lip, Mickey forced himself to remain silent. He knew Ian hated feeling like a burden, like he couldn’t be trusted to be in control of his own life. Going back for his diploma was a first step in that direction, to feeling in control again. ROTC had been another

Weeks before, Ian’s ROTC supervisor had reached out, asking him if he felt like tagging along to training days to help some of the newer kids learn the ropes. They needed the help, the supervisor said, and Ian had always been one of their top cadets.

Mickey had a feeling Lip had his hand in there with this somewhere, but he’d never been able to figure out exactly how. And frankly, he was too relieved at the possibility of Ian having something normal in his life again to question it too much.

At first, Ian had been adamantly opposed. He didn’t want the reminder of the army in his life anymore, he said, but Mickey knew more than that he didn’t want the constant reminder of being so out of control the summer before to haunt him anymore than it had to.

But the longer Ian had sat around the house, going quietly stir-crazy as he adjusted to his meds, adjusted to being home again, and slowly began to drive everyone else in the Gallagher house, not to mention Mickey, up the wall with his nervous, frustrated energy, he finally caved and emailed his supervisor back.

Mickey privately thought that Ian would always be too much of a do-gooder boy scout to resist the siren’s call of someone asking for his help, but whatever. It gave him some place to go three days a week.

It gave him something to do so he wouldn’t look so tired all the time.

Ian shook his head, bending down to shove his nose into the space between Mickey’s neck and shoulder. He probably thought he was being slick, but Mickey could feel the sharp inhale as he drew in breath through his nose.

“Man, why are you always smelling me?” Mickey demanded, trying to sound irritated even as his heart beat faster as Ian dragged his nose up Mickey’s jawline to his temple.

“I like the way you smell,” Ian said, his voice muffled against Mickey’s skin, giving a casual shrug, like of course he did, why was Mickey even asking about it.

Ian slid his hand down to rub at the outline of Mickeys cock through his sweatpants, making Mickey jolt. His moaned, rocking into the rhythm as Ian jerked him fast but steady, each stroke measured, driving Mickey out of his mind.

The pressure rose too quickly and Mickey gasped, pulling his hips back a little.

“If you’re going to fuck me, can we do it someplace else but your grungy-ass bathroom?” Mickey complained, glancing around at the grody tiles and mildewed shower.

Ian arched an eyebrow. All of a sudden he had his hand pressed against Mickey’s clavicle and was shoving him back, out of the doorway of the bathroom and against the wall in the hallway. “Who said you were going to be the one getting fucked?”

He dove in again, pressing his mouth to Mickey’s in a deep, filthy kiss before he could protest. When Mickey was moaning again, kissing him back urgently, Ian hooked his leg up, pulling his hips flush with Mickey’s. Without breaking the kiss, Ian ground against him in one long, sinuous roll.

And just like that, Mickey’s brain went offline for a minute. The feel of Ian’s tongue in his mouth, the way he sucked on Mickey’s bottom lip, the way he kissed Mickey like he was afraid he was going to disappear, it drove Mickey fucking _crazy_ and he could only squeeze Ian’s bare arms, legs feeling wobbly and useless as Ian rutted against him.

Ian pulled them away from the wall, walking Mickey backward to the bedroom that blessedly free of Gallaghers for once, pressing kisses to Mickey’s mouth the whole time.

When they crossed the threshold, Mickey finally broke free, shoving Ian back onto Ian’s bed so Mickey could wiggle gracelessly out of his shirt and pants, yanking down his boxers and falling to his knees. Ian had just enough time to lift his hips and shove his own boxers down before Mickey swallowed Ian’s cock down in one go.

Mickey moaned involuntarily, the first initial taste of Ian on his tongue always weirdly intense, making his mouth impossibly wet as he hollowed his cheeks, slurping to keep the sudden rush of spit inside. He bobbed his head, jerking Ian with one hand, his own dick hardening so quickly it was almost an ache.

Trying to be sly about it but feeling like a girl, Mickey reached with his free hand and wrapped it around Ian’s fingers where they clawed at the bed sheet. Ian was too busy babbling to notice the uncomfortably tender gesture, clasping Mickey’s hand back and letting words pour from his mouth.

Fuck, but Mickey had never met a chattier lay.

“God, your mouth, Mickey, so hot, I love when you suck me, you’re so _good_ at it, fuck, I can’t believe how good you fuck me with your mouth, yeah, put your tongue right— _shit_ ,” Ian bit out, thighs going tense.

Mickey drew away to nuzzle at Ian’s balls “Jesus, do you ever stop fucking _talking_ ,” he muttered. God, Ian smelled so good here, even though Mickey knew it didn’t make any sense and that it was probably weird he thought so, but he guessed he kind of understood why Ian was sniffing him all the time.

Ian ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair lazily, scritching lightly with his nails against the scalp. When Mickey gave a particularly hard suck, Ian flinched and tugged his head up lightly. With one last lick, Mickey let himself be pulled up so his face was level with Ian’s.

“I want you inside me, Mick,” Ian said intently, his eyes bright and hot. He reached to pull the lube out of the bedside table and handed it to Mickey, who swallowed.

“You…you sure, man?” He tried to keep his voice from wobbling even as he squeezed out some lube. This wasn’t something they did that often, and it always made him feel stupid and nervous.

But Ian looked supremely confident, nodding, guiding Mickey’s hand between his legs and Mickey could do nothing his lead, trying not to pant like an animal.

As soon as Mickey pressed a finger inside his rim, Ian was off, babbling to beat the band, and Mickey would’ve rolled his eyes if his own cock wasn’t so hard it was throbbing, the feel of Ian’s tight hole slowly opening to the steady pressure, letting Mickey inside, almost too much to handle.

“Yeah, right— _fuck_ , I love the way you feel when you do this, your hands, your fingers are so _hot_ , ahh, nice, so nice.” Ian jerked as Mickey added another finger, crooking his fingers slightly, making Ian arch his back.

Mickey nodded dumbly, stroking Ian’s cock with his free hand, fucking Ian with the other, and he momentarily forgot why he didn’t fuck Ian all the _time_ , fuck.

He felt his own words start to get loose, caught up in the sweaty, filthy heat of the moment.

“God, I know.” Mickey pressed in a third finger inside, and Ian groaned. “I never fucked anyone before,” he confessed mindlessly, too mesmerized by the sight of Ian fucking himself down on Mickey’s hand to think about what he was saying.

Ian lifted his head, looking down at Mickey in surprise. “What, you mean you never topped before?”

Mickey bit his lip, still staring at Ian’s ass, still distracted by the tight clutch of Ian’s hole. It took him a second to notice that Ian had gone still. And then Mickey went still, realizing what he’d just said.

He looked up to see Ian watching him with this impossibly fond look in his eye, and it made the back of Mickey’s neck go hot.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said, even though Ian hadn’t really said anything. “I never told anybody that before.”

But Ian didn’t look mocking, Mickey realized as they stared at each other. Instead he looked dazed, almost wondering. His mouth hung open a little, but then he snapped it shut, making desperate grabby hands at Mickey, yanking him up by his shoulders.

“Fuck, get _in me_ already,” he gasped, putting his hands on Mickey’s cock and jerking him roughly as he scrabbled behind him for a condom.

“Okay,” Mickey said dumbly, because good idea, and no sooner was the condom rolled down than Ian was leading him by the cock, bringing the head of Mickey’s cock to his rim and bearing down.

Mickey shuddered, helpless to do anything but drive in, pushing his cock inside until he was fully seated and he went still, gasping, his heart racing like it was going to beat out of his chest.

He squeezed Ian’s thigh, holding himself up on his elbow, staring down at him, shaking, overcome by the heat and clench and overwhelming _closeness_ of being inside Ian.

“Christ,” he bit out, his eyes going watery at the edges. He sought out Ian’s gaze wildly. “ _Ian_.”

“Shh,” Ian soothed, his own eyes half-lidded, his cheeks brightly flushed. Even though he was the one filled to the brim, he stroked at Mickey’s cheek, calming him. “It’s okay, I got you.” He hooked his heels around Mickey’s thighs, pulling him in. “You’re okay.”

Mickey whined, the sound high and embarrassing. He drove his cock forward then in again, fucking him jerkily at first before he built up a tempo, dragging back just enough to get a rhythm, hating pulling out even that much, needing the heat of Ian all around him.

He felt Ian pressing his nails into his back, the burn so good it shot up and down Mickey’s spine. He arched his back, changing the angle that he was driving into Ian, and then holding it, working so that he was dragging across Ian’s prostate with every thrust.

“Right there, shit, right there, _fuck_ ,” Ian hissed out, hands squeezing Mickey’s ass, guiding him in and out, bringing Mickey crashing against him on every stroke, fucking down harder and harder, pushing Mickey nearly over the edge.

He pressed his face into Ian’s neck, letting Ian murmur to him, the soft sound of his voice grounding him, keeping him from getting too stupid and emotional.

“So good, Mickey,” Ian said, throwing his head back against the pillow, his neck straining, and Mickey couldn’t help biting down the thick tendon, making Ian gasp.

“Ian, _god_ ,” Mickey gasped out, his hand on Ian’s hip gripping hard enough that he was sure he was leaving marks.

Desperate to make Ian come, Mickey reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock, clumsy with his own approaching orgasm, jerking him wildly, completely out of sync with his own thrusts but he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t think, he was going to come so hard his brain was going to explode, and then Ian reached forward and looped his arm around Mickey’s hip, pulling him tight against him and clenching around Mickey’s cock at the same time, and that was it, that was all she wrote, Mickey was coming like a freight train, yelling Ian’s name as Ian continued to fuck himself down on Mickey’s cock, gasping and swearing.

Dimly, Mickey’s felt himself slumping, and then Ian pushing his hand away so he could jerk himself to completion. Ian came with a gasp, making a mess against his stomach, and went lax, the sound of their labored breathing filling the air of the room.

Carefully, Mickey pulled out and slipped off the condom, tying it off and tossing it lazily in the direction of the trash can by the door. He missed. He’d get it later.

He rolled over onto his back. He watched blearily as Ian pulled Mickey’s discarded T-shirt up to scrub at the come at his chest, and Mickey was too fucked out to object.

Ian threw it away and lay back. He manhandled Mickey onto his chest, Mickey only muttering out token protests, until he was satisfied, Mickey splayed out across him like a blanket.

They fell silent, their breathing and racing heartbeats finally settling to something resembling normal.

“I won’t forget my phone again,” Ian promised, his voice drowsy as he pulled Mickey tighter to his chest.

“You don’t got to promise me, man,” Mickey said, sighing. “I’m not your keeper.”

Ian chuckled, the sound light and breathless in the quiet, shadowy room. “Sure you are, Mick.” Ian’s squeezed Mickey’s shoulder and then relaxed, going slack.

Something in Mickey’s chest went tight, almost painfully so, but before he could think up anything to say in response, he heard Ian’s breathing go deep and steady. He was already asleep.

Even though he was tired too, Mickey couldn’t keep his eyes closed. He let his head go heavy on Ian’s shoulder, craving the faint thump of Ian’s heartbeat against his ear.

He let himself focus on nothing but Ian’s breathing, his chest rising and falling gently as Ian exhaled, in and out. He stared into the dark, letting the cadence soothe him. In and out. Ian was fine. In and out. He was safe here, beneath Mickey.

**Author's Note:**

> Come Tumbl, yall: ohjafeeljadefinitelyfeel.tumblr.com


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